The Good, The Bad, And The Unemployed
by MR. CR0CKER
Summary: In an instance of "You can't fire me! I quit!", Crocker resigns from teaching and finds himself constantly reflecting on painful memories. Added chapter eight.
1. Rainy Days And Mondays

Disclaimer: The basic plot for this story is my idea, however The Fairly OddParents and all characters involved belong to Butch Hartman. 

Chapter One-- "Rainy Days And Mondays"

The gray interior, the lack of sunlight, the musty smell, the restraints, the silence--he'd been there before. One would think he might have gotten used to it after a while, but he could never feel safe and contented in a place with that description because it fit one place and one place alone--the mental institution.

Yes, Denzel Crocker had pushed the envelope a little too far--again. A violent clash of opinions involving himself and his boss, Geraldine Waxelplax, and--of course-- revolving around fairies had landed him there, same as last time. His life was and always would be a broken record, destined to skip and repeat itself for all time. It seemed he would never learn that himself, Waxelplax, and fairies didn't go well together.

He winced and gritted his teeth in annoyance as he could hear his next door neighbor--Adam West a.k.a. "Catman"--sharpening his claws on the padded walls of his cell. In the oppressive silence, that sound didn't take long to grate on Crocker's raw nerves. 

"Will you shut up?!" he shouted, kicking the wall as his arms were bound in a straitjacket. Otherwise, he would have pounded his fists on it.

"Never!" Catman replied, "Catman shuts up when Catman pleases!"

"Shut up, crazies!" an orderly barked the warning from somewhere in the corridors.

Crocker obeyed as did Catman, their argument dying on the spot as neither one of them favored the idea of going "night-night". Crocker still continued to nurse his grudge against the demented celebrity. How fair was it that he had to sit in a straitjacket while his neighbor was free to shred the walls to his heart's content?

Distraught in more ways than one, Crocker sat there on the shabby bed and looked up to stare out the small window at the black night sky. No stars...nothing to lighten the mood or lift his spirit even a fraction. It reminded him of a day of long ago--one of those days he had no desire to consciously remember.

---------------

__

How he hated summer camp. The woods, the poison ivy, the mosquitoes, the camp counselor--**especially** the camp counselor--who was none other than his babysitter, Vic. Twelve years old and every bit as miserable as he'd been two years ago, Denzel Crocker sat out in the humid night air alone--in an eight-foot deep pit, no less.

He was left down there as a form of punishment concocted by Vic himself. Punishment for what, he hadn't the faintest idea. He suspected it was just Vic's way of giving him his daily dose of humiliation.

He wasn't afraid. Being around people actually scared Denzel more than being alone. He knew what to expect from himself, but he could never be ready for what might come from other people.

It was pitch black in the pit due to the fact that an overcast sky blocked out the light of the moon and stars. Sleep was not an option as the mosquitoes were merciless and he was constantly swatting something.

"Joy comes in the morning," Denzel kept telling himself, even though he found that hard to believe--perhaps even wishful thinking. Truth be known, he dreaded the morning as much as he loathed his present predicament. That child couldn't win for losing.

When morning finally came, he was as miserable as a twelve-year-old kid could be. He was covered with mosquito bites, his eyes were bloodshot, and he was filthy. Naturally, just when he thought things couldn't possibly get worse, Vic's sinister face appeared over the lip of the pit.

"Did you have fun down there, twerp?" he inquired sarcastically.

"He's still alive?" asked the Turner kid--no one knew his first name.

"Pity, huh?" Vic chuckled, throwing a rope down to Denzel, who hesitantly took hold of it. 

He knew Vic's pulling him up was too good to be true. Just when he was about to grab the edge of the pit and haul himself out, the red-haired bully let the rope slide through his hands until Denzel was right back where he started--lying in the dirt. That went on for several hours before Vic became bored and actually let the poor kid out.

Exhausted, bruised, itchy, and dirtier than before, Denzel pulled himself out of the hole and collapsed where he was, exhausted and gasping for breath. His arms felt like cooked spaghetti and his hands were so raw with rope burns that he had oozing blisters on every inch of his palms.

Of course, it was not in Vic's nature to give him a break. He put his foot on Denzel's kyphosis-afflicted back, applying an unwanted amount of pressure and uttering a cruel laugh of satisfaction as the boy stifled a whimper of pain, biting his lower lip to keep from screaming in agony.

"So who's ready for a hike through the woods? Are you ready, twerp?"

---------------

Crocker remembered that hike as vividly as everything else. It was a five-miler and he'd been forced to be Vic's pack mule and carry the many unnecessary supplies--a lounge chair, a mini-fridge, a television--all that could be expected from Vic. As if that hadn't been bad enough, Crocker also clearly remembered being tripped in a huge patch of poison ivy. His reaction was so bad, it almost put him in the hospital. Of course, when he came home, his mother didn't have time for him when he tried to tell her what had happened. She probably wouldn't have believed him anyway. What he wouldn't give to regain whatever it was he'd lost so long ago...

"The changing in this world could use some change," he muttered, finally breaking his gaze from the black sky beyond the barred window above his head, "No change has ever been to my benefit. Not a single one. Someday that itself will change though--I'll make it change! Once I succeed in capturing Timmy Turner's...FAIRY GODPARENTS!!!"

Yes, he could even have a violent spasm while restrained in a straitjacket--talk about talent. Of course, he ended up flinging himself to the floor and getting up without the use of his arms proved to be a chore, but it didn't matter. He had all the time in the world in that place. He never even knew what time it was there. He remained on the floor for some time, thinking...plotting...entertaining himself with megalomaniac thoughts. However, it wasn't long before those thoughts were interrupted by his obnoxious neighbor again. This time it sounded like he was digging in a litter box.

"Hey! What're you doing in there?!" Crocker demanded from his place on the floor beside the bed.

"I'm building a sandcastle!" Catman shouted back.

"Shut up, crazies!" the same orderly snapped.

"It's official," Crocker grumbled to himself, "The sooner I get out of here, the better."

---------------

The days that followed were so monotonous and mundane that Crocker could no longer tell when one day ended and another began. They all just seemed to run together as he'd lost all sense of time. The only thing that gave him hope was the thought that maybe someone would show up to bail him out of there and put a stop to the madness of the vicious cycle.

"And maybe Turner doesn't have...FAIRY GODPARENTS!!!" he snarled, twitching impulsively as he made the sarcastic, fairy-related remark to emphasize the fact that the chances of someone bailing him out were next to nothing.

"Denzel!"

The familiar high-pitched, sing-song voice floated down the hall and came muffled through the walls. It could be no one but his mother. He had mixed emotions about that particular visitor. On the one hand, she may take pity on him--and embarrass him with it--yet sign him out. On the other hand, she might see that it was for the best that he be left in the insane asylum, in the care of psychiatrists and the like.

His door opened and an orderly escorted his mother into the room. She stood in silence for a few moments, saddened by the current state her son was in. She hated having him taken away from her and it pained her to see him bound up and even more miserable than he was at home.

"Oh, Denzel," she sighed, shaking her head, "Where did I go wrong?"

Crocker bit his tongue as he already had a well-thought-out answer to that particular question--that particularly _stupid_ question.

"They said you might be able to get out on good behavior," she continued, "Have you been behaving yourself, Denzel?"

Again, Crocker remained silent. He knew if he even started to answer her silly questions, he would fly into a tantrum and most likely wind up getting an injection of sedatives for his trouble. It wasn't worth it to him. He hated needles and he was determined to go to any lengths to avoid them--even if it meant biting his tongue and deliberately giving his mother the silent treatment.

"You be a good boy, Denzel," his mother spoke up once again as she turned to leave, seeing as how her son was obviously in no mood to talk, "Be good like you were when you were little. I wish I knew what became of my perky little ball of sunshine..."

__

So do I, Mother, Crocker thought, _So do I..._


	2. Desperado

Disclaimer: The basic plot for this story is my idea, however The Fairly OddParents and all characters involved belong to Butch Hartman. 

Chapter Two-- "Desperado"

Crocker was out in roughly a week, though not on good behavior. Heaven forbid. No, he got out simply because his insanity was driving everyone else insane in the asylum. Crocker had launched a verbal berating on Catman and left the poor lunatic in a fetal position with his thumb in his mouth and he managed to blackmail a certain orderly. They were more than happy to let him go, but--of course--they never consulted the supervisor or anything before they signed him a release. That was to Crocker's advantage.

The first thing he did upon being released was go straight to the school. He was ready to go toe-to-toe with Waxelplax again and--if nothing else--he wanted to rub it in her face that he was free and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Mr. Crocker?" the principal dropped her fork in her salad when Crocker came waltzing into the cafeteria at lunch period, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm a free man," Crocker replied calmly, idly flicking a piece of lint off his shirt sleeve and remaining completely unconcerned when it conveniently landed in her plate.

"But...how?" Waxelplax was almost at a loss for words as she was overcome with despair and shock all at once.

"The institution simply signed me out."

"Are they nuts?! How did you convince them to let you go?"

"Oh, I have my ways," Crocker replied coolly, savoring the moment, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a lunch period to spend in the janitor's closet and--later--a class to teach."

"Oh, no you don't!" Waxelplax bellowed, rising up just in time to catch him by his tie, "You're incapable of teaching until you get your brains straightened out, Crocker, and you know it. You're not going anywhere near those children until you do your time."

"I've done my time for the last time!" Crocker barked in response, yanking his tie out of her grasp and straightening it, "Now get off my back! Heaven knows you're bound to break it if you don't!"

Naturally, the raised voices of agitated adults attracted the children's attention. Normally, they wouldn't think much of Crocker's ranting, but they realized he was ranting at his boss and those occasions were always pretty juicy.

Meanwhile, Waxelplax scowled at the scrawny, insane, sorry excuse for a man, not at all appreciating his wordplay on her weight. That was a low blow and it would cost him. She would see to it.

"You psychotic moron!" she screeched angrily, "There is no place in the world for you! There never was and there never will be! The only place you even remotely fit into is the mental institution and--guess what else--you're fired!"

"You can't fire me!" Crocker raged right back, "I quit!"

Waxelplax hadn't expected _that_. She'd expected him to remind her of his tenure privileges in the most annoying way possible. She never thought she'd live to see the day when Crocker would utter those two long-awaited words. Like the principal, the students and other teachers sat in silent shock. They weren't even able to cheer as Crocker stormed out of the building. Perhaps no one wanted to interrupt the silent euphoria of the moment.

---------------

Crocker was definitely kicking himself later. How could he be so impulsively foolish? He'd blown his only employed opportunity to hunt fairies. What made matters worse was the thought that, without a salary, he would have no finances to put toward his extensive research.

He tried to be positive and look for the bright side of the situation. Being optimistic was not one of his strong points. He once held the title as the most pessimistic human being in Dimmsdale.

"Well, on the bright side," he reasoned with himself, "Without a job, I have more time to hunt...FAIRIES!!!"

That thought only cheered him up for a split second. Being a manic-depressive, his mood swings went from an emotional high to an all-time low in very little time and he hated that. He hated having such little control over his feelings. Add to that obsessive-compulsive disorder and paranoia and he was a regular basket case--a time bomb ready to explode at any given moment.

"I'll have to start searching for another job before my mother finds out...I'M UNEMPLOYED!!!" he twitched at the thought of his mother finding out.

"You're unemployed?!"

The familiar high-pitched voice nearly scared the living daylights out of him as his mother was at the door to greet him when he came home. He staggered back, scattering the pile of fairy drawings and trap blueprints he was carrying as his mother obviously overheard him talking to himself.

"No--uh...m-me? Unemployed?" he chuckled nervously, hoping he might be able to deceive his gullible mother with a good act, "N-no. No! Absolutely not! What gave you that idea?"

"I heard you say 'I'm unemployed'," she answered, "Denzel, did you get fired again?"

"Again?" Crocker repeated, forgetting his act and getting angry, "What do you mean 'again'?"

"Oh, I remember when you got fired from your very first job," his mother rambled, "You were a paperboy, remember? You broke your boss's car window when you flung a newspaper at it and..."

Crocker trembled with rage and locked his arms over his head as though he was trying to keep from literally blowing his top. He didn't need a stroll down the hated Memory Lane...not at that point.

"...and then there was that job when you were in college," she was still going on and on, "The ice cream job, remember? Oh, I remember you got locked in the freezer for eight hours and you had to go to the hospital to be treated for hypothermia. Mommy was so scared of losing you..."

"Mother--"

"...your lips were as blue as my dress and you were shaking like a leaf in the wind..."

"Mother--"

"...and they had to get you on heated iv fluids..."

"Mother, will you shut up?!" Crocker shouted, flinging his arms in the air and towering over her in an attempt to perhaps intimidate her into silence. Did it work? In his dreams, maybe.

"Why, I never!" his mother harrumphed, planting her fists on her hips, "Honestly, Denzel, you never used to talk like that when you were little. Where did you get such a potty mouth? I should wash your mouth out with soap for that. Then maybe you'd learn your lesson..."

"This isn't going to work," Crocker groaned to himself, raking his hand down his face as his mother rattled on incessantly. With her still chattering at his heels, he dragged himself into the house and headed up to his room, hoping to get some quiet time to formulate a plan and get his thoughts together.

---------------

Despite the fact that Crocker had spoken disrespectfully to her, his mother--knowing he was upset--was doing her best to try to cheer him up. While he sat in his room--no doubt stewing over the day's events--she was in the kitchen making dinner.

Crocker was bound to disappoint her again--though not intentionally. He was so worked up over his latest big problem that even the smell of shrimp puffs nauseated him. He was already prepared to skip dinner. At the moment, he was on the internet, substituting fairy-hunting with job-hunting...and not by choice.

"No...no...no..." he muttered to himself click after click as he browsed through jobs for most of which he was overqualified, "Ugh...what's it take to find a stupid, two-bit job on this stupid, two-bit internet?!"

"Denzel, am I right in guessing you aren't hungry?" his mother called after a few moments of his ignoring the usually tantalizing aroma.

"No," Crocker grumbled, referring to a job, but quickly corrected himself before his mother misunderstood him, "I mean, yes."

"Yay! I'm right," she sang out, causing Crocker to roll his eyes in annoyance, "Well, if you change your mind, there are some stupid, two-bit shrimp puffs in the stupid, two-bit refrigerator. Just nuke them in the stupid, two-bit microwave."

Crocker mumbled some incoherent response and continued clicking, scrolling through job after job after job. That in itself was exhausting. He knew he'd be using eye drops by the time he was finished.

After roughly three straight hours of doing nothing but online job-hunting, Crocker was ready to call it a night, however, one last click brought him to something that triggered a flashback. He was overqualified for that job as well, but he was also desperate and beggars can't be choosers. He would turn in his résumé first thing in the morning.


	3. It Was Nineteen Eighty Something

Disclaimer: The basic plot for this story is my idea, however The Fairly OddParents and all characters involved belong to Butch Hartman. 

Chapter Three-- "It Was Nineteen-Eighty-Something"

"This job may be just the thing," Crocker talked to himself as he drove to his destination, résumé in hand, "It's an ice cream shop and where there is ice cream, there are kids and where there are kids, there are bound to be...FAIRY GODPARENTS!!!"

He had said those very words about twenty years ago. Yes, he'd held down a job at Mr. Frosty's once before--part time as he worked his way through college. He still had his uniform and, after twenty years, it still fit him simply because his neurotic character and his high metabolism made it difficult--if not impossible--for him to gain any weight. 

He squealed his tires as he jerked the van into the parking lot. Kicking his door open, he leaped out and, trying his best to look confident and dignified, he strolled into the building. He wasn't surprised to find the same person owned and ran the place. Nothing like that ever changed in that stupid, two-bit town. Crocker approached the counter and passed the sealed envelope to the owner, who was also the permanent manager.

"What's this?" the gruff, burly man asked.

"My, uh...résumé," Crocker replied, tugging nervously at his shirt collar.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" he asked, eyeing Crocker closely for a moment before a look of recognition crossed his features, "Ah, I remember you. You were the kid I hired and fired three months later. Crocker, right?"

"Correct," Crocker answered, the teacher in him coming out spontaneously with that answer.

"We ain't hiring," Mr. Frosty snarled, remembering well his reason for having to fire Crocker in the first place.

"Oh, yes you are!" Crocker replied quickly, brandishing the paper he'd printed out as proof, "I picked this up on the internet."

"If I'd known _you_ were job-hunting, I never would've posted that ad," Mr. Frosty grumbled, but heaved a sigh of resignation, "All right. I'm willing to let bygones be bygones and give you a second chance here. Twenty years can change a man--and maybe ice cream can stay frozen on the sun..."

Crocker didn't hear the last muttered comment. He was beside himself with relief after hearing the old man giving him a second chance. Maybe--just maybe--today would be the turning point for the better that his life had always needed.

"You've got the job," Mr. Frosty interrupted his elated thoughts, "You can start tomor--bah! Forget it. You can start today. I'll get you a uniform."

"No need," Crocker replied, holding up his old one, "I still have the one you gave me twenty years ago."

"Good," Frosty growled, "More money in the bank then."

---------------

After a week of retraining, it all came back to Crocker--just like riding a bicycle...or tying shoes. He was serving ice cream, running the cash register, and keeping track of stocking and inventory. For the first week, teaching was a thing of the past, but after a while, he began to miss his old occupation. When it started showing in his current work, things got difficult.

"What would it take to equal $2.80?" he asked a child who couldn't have been more than four or five as she stepped forward to pay for her ice cream.

She held up a quarter.

"Wrong! F!" he shouted, writing an "F" on the receipt and sticking it in her face.

"What do you think you're doing?" his boss demanded as the child ran out crying.

"Teaching--gah! I mean, uh...my job?" he grinned ingratiatingly.

"Your job doesn't involve grading customers," Mr. Frosty growled, grabbing Crocker's shirt collar in his massive hand and breathing cigar-smoke breath in his face, "It involves giving them what they want, taking their money--which is what I want--and giving them their change. Clear?"

"Crystal," Crocker choked, giving him a "thumb's-up" as he was sweating bullets.

---------------

After the whole incident involving the flaring up of his teaching skills, Crocker was more or less walking on eggshells--especially when Mr. Frosty was around, breathing down his neck. He was grateful when his boss finally took him off register duty and sent him to the back room to make sure supplies were well stocked.

Like the janitor's closet at the school, Mr. Frosty's walk-in freezer became Crocker's safe haven where he frequently retreated whenever possible simply to get his thoughts together--and talk to himself about fairies, of course. True, the temperature in there was below zero, but it didn't bother him too much. At least he had a long-sleeved uniform, however un-insulated the material may have been.

Lost in thought, he paused in his mindless chore of organizing ice cream flavors. Standing there, caught in a common stupor, he found himself subconsciously reflecting on "the good old days".

---------------

__

It had been a month since he'd gotten the job at Mr. Frosty's where he intended to raise the funds to aid him in his research. It wasn't a bad job. The pay was fair--minimum wage. Not much, but it would all add up in time.

Crocker was busy in the freezer, stocking ice cream and making sure things were neat and in order. It was after hours and he'd been left to straighten things and lock up when he was finished. Truth be known, he was honored that his boss already trusted him that much.

Unfortunately, very few clouds in Crocker's life had genuine silver lining. Most of the time, it turned out to be just common, worthless aluminum foil. That was one of those times. 

A block of wood was used to prop the freezer door open when someone was working inside it because the door only opened from the outside. As Crocker passed the door, transporting a load of frozen goods from one end of the cold room to the other, he stumbled over the wooden block, dislodging it and falling flat on his face in the process. He realized the door was only inches away from locking him in the windowless, subzero room and he scrambled to catch it, but he was too late. He hit a door that wouldn't give an inch. Panicked, he rose to his knees and pounded his fists on the door--not that it would do him any good, but it was a convenient way to vent some frightened energy. He managed to collect his thoughts a little better after doing so.

"The story of my life," he sighed, his breath vaporizing in the cold as he sank down on a milk crate, "Just when I think things are going to get better--bam! The door slams in my face--sometimes literally."

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours. Crocker knew no one would come to his rescue. No one knew where he was. He wasn't expecting a miracle, but he was hoping for one. After barely an hour, he was shivering violently and pacing the floor in a vain attempt to stay warm. His hands and feet were completely numb and the chill wasn't stopping there.

It wasn't long before he stopped shivering altogether--a telltale sign that hypothermia had set in. His complexion had taken on a shade of blue and he felt too exhausted to pace anymore. It wasn't doing him any good anyway. He huddled in a corner of the room behind some boxes to block the blast from the freezer fans and struggled to battle unconsciousness. Like all the others, that battle was a losing one.

When he awoke again some time later, he was in completely different surroundings, but that didn't concern him. The first thing he noticed was that--wherever he was--it was warm. He couldn't have known he was in the hospital as he succumbed to unconsciousness once again, but he was vaguely aware of his mother's presence.

"Where am I?" he groaned a few hours later as he opened his eyes to take in a blurry, disfigured world. Again, he made out the fuzzy silhouette of his mother by his side.

"You're in the hospital, Denzel," his mother answered, placing his glasses back on his face, "Mommy had to defrost these. That better?"

Crocker just offered a weak smile, grateful someone was there for him. As his vision cleared a little, he noticed his girlfriend, Geraldine Waxelplax, was also in the room.

"Oh, Denzel, are you all right?" she asked, stepping closer to take his hand in one of hers while she held up four fingers with the other, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"I don't think I can even count that high," Crocker grimaced, crossing his eyes as he struggled to focus, obviously still experiencing multiple vision, "But you're all very pretty--all sixteen of you."

"Go back to sleep, Denzel," his mother said, gently taking his glasses away again, "You'll feel better soon. To think we almost lost you..."

---------------

Why didn't you lose me? Crocker sometimes wondered why he'd survived all the things he'd been through. There had to be a reason.

"Good luck figuring out what it is though," he said to himself.

"Crocker!"

Mr. Frosty's gruff, gravelly bark interrupted his thoughts and startled him so bad that he almost dropped his clipboard. He grinned nervously and turned to face his boss.

"You're still not through stocking those shelves?" Mr. Frosty demanded, "Get to work! I ain't paying you to stand around and think--or whatever it was you were doing. Get busy! Slacker. Oh, and by the way, you won't have to worry about being locked in any freezers. Technology has changed things here. You simply push a button to get the door to open from the inside now. No more wooden blocks. Anyway...get a move on!"

__

How'd he know what I was thinking about? Returning to his work, Crocker lapsed into thought once again--thoughts about his past life...days gone by. Not much had changed and yet--in the same token--so much had.


	4. And Nothing Is Rhyming

Disclaimer: The basic plot for this story is my idea, however The Fairly OddParents and all characters involved belong to Butch Hartman.

Chapter Four-- "And Nothing Is Rhyming"

The change in occupation turned out to be much harder for Crocker to adapt to than he'd anticipated. As time went on with no one to teach, his psychotic mind began to take over. One day, while organizing ice cream in the walk-in freezer again, he couldn't take it anymore. Without being totally conscious of his actions, he started setting up the freezer like a classroom, substituting students with appropriately colored ice cream containers. Timmy was represented by a pink container of strawberry ice cream. Crocker tended to pick on that one the most.

"Class, today we will be learning decimals," he spoke as though he was talking to a classroom full of children rather than a freezer full of ice cream, "What's that, Turner? You don't think you're ready to do decimals? Then why don't you just wish yourself ready with the help of your...FAIRY GODPARENTS?! I know you have them!"

The strawberry ice cream sat in silence as he pointed his accusing finger.

"Don't you lie to me, Timmy Turner!" Crocker barked venomously as if the container of ice cream was actually a living, breathing, thinking individual capable of lying, "I can see through your lies and one day I will prove that you've been lying! That will be the day when I capture your...FAIRY GODPARENTS!!!"

"Crocker!" Mr. Frosty bellowed as he opened the freezer and witnessed Crocker's violent spasm, "What do you think you're doing? We've got customers out there and--"

He stopped and glowered around at the freezer that oddly resembled a classroom. The milk crates were arranged to compensate school desks and ice cream containers sat where it looked like children should have been.

"What's the meaning of this?" Frosty asked dryly, gesturing toward the neatly arranged...mess.

"This? Oh," Crocker scrambled frantically for a logical explanation and--naturally--he could only come up with one, "It's just...FAIRIES!!! No! No, I mean, uh...I was just...organizing the, uh...ice cream."

He forced an ingratiating grin as his boss eyed him skeptically, silently praying his story would be enough to get him off the hook for now.

"I hope you remember why I fired you twenty-some-odd years ago--"

"Of course, I do! But the customers are waiting!" Crocker blurted, sidling toward the door, "Mustn't keep them waiting! I'll be waiting on them now!"

"He's still missing a screw," Mr. Frosty muttered as he watched his paranoid employee skirt out the door and disappear.

---------------

As Crocker hurried to wait on customers, he almost gave way to a spasm when he saw Timmy Turner and his friends at the front of the line. Just what he needed--the temptation of fairy-hunting. That would be enough to dig his grave a little deeper. He swallowed his impulses--nearly choking on them--and approached the counter.

"Can I help you?" he asked dryly.

"Mr. Crocker?" Timmy blinked up at his old teacher, "What are you doing here?"

"I'll ask the questions here, Turner!" Crocker hissed, "What do you want?"

"Uh...I'll take a hot fudge sundae," Timmy said quickly, not wanting to further aggravate the already edgy ex-teacher, "Uh...please?"

Like a programmed robot, Crocker mechanically filled Timmy's order, trying desperately to fight the strong impulse to monitor the boy for fairy activity. It was a losing battle like all the others. He knew it.

"That'll be--TWO FAIRIES!!!" Crocker convulsed as he shouted, but quickly recovered as Mr. Frosty glared at him, "Gah! I mean---uh, that'll be $2.50!"

Timmy hastily paid for his ice cream and left. He couldn't get out of there fast enough. Crocker eyed him as he retreated, wanting desperately to follow him and look for evidence of fairies, but he was obligated to remain behind the counter, waiting on rude and impatient customers.

---------------

Day after day, the drudgery continued without alteration in its monotonous rhythm. After battling insomnia half the night, Crocker forced himself to get up and function in the morning, choked down three or four cups of coffee to get enough caffeine into his system to keep him going for the day, arrived at work a nervous wreck, mechanically went through the motions, returned home exhausted, endured another sleepless night, only to rise the next morning to the same routine.

In vain attempts to cheer himself up even a little, he retreated to the freezer to arrange his "classroom" and teach his silent "students". If that didn't appeal to him, he would fall to talking to himself about fairies. Such was the life of the miserable teacher.

One day, he trudged out to wait on customers and nearly choked on his own spit when he saw Waxelplax standing at the counter, browsing the overhead menu. Crocker froze and jumped back to hide behind a wall. How degrading! Soon Waxelplax would know just how severely he'd demoted himself. There was no way he could go out there.

"What're you doing standing around with your face hanging out?" Mr. Frosty demanded, grabbing Crocker by his shirt and slinging him out of his hiding place, causing him to slide across the freshly mopped floor and collide with the counter, "Get to work!"

Waxelplax had the same reaction as Crocker when her gaze fell on him in a double take. Even she could see that he looked broken and down-trodden.

"Mr. Crocker," she stammered slightly, "What in the world are you doing here?'

Crocker straightened, trying to regain his dignity--if he still possessed any--and forced a pleasant face. He had to lie otherwise he'd never live this down.

"This is my new job," he replied detachedly, "I've been working here for nearly a month now."

"Do you like it better than teaching?" Waxelplax inquired, admittedly a bit concerned.

"Are you kidding?" Crocker asked, lying through his teeth, "I've always wanted a job like this. It's great. I couldn't be happier."

"That's funny," Waxelplax mused, "Because you look absolutely miserable. Look, um...if you decide you want to come back...uh...the door is always open."

She silently kicked herself for that one. The school had become better than ever with Crocker out of the picture. The children and teachers alike were happy. No fights broke out. No children ran home crying. No talk of fairies. It was pure bliss. So why was she inviting him back?

Everything in Crocker's being cried to return to his old job. In fact, his eyes even started to tear up at the pang within him--the feeling of homesickness. He fought it tooth and nail though. He had his pride and there was no way he was going to go crawling back to Waxelplax.

"Well, you'd better close it before you catch a draft," he retorted nonchalantly, "Because I already told you I'm perfectly happy here."

"Are you...crying?" Waxelplax asked, eyeing him closely.

Crocker rushed away to the cutting board and started chopping up onions. He could rise above this--he had to.

"Isn't that to be expected when one is dicing onions?" he replied, his eyes watering full force.

"I suppose so," Waxelplax shrugged, "But you looked like you were crying before you started doing that."

"That's because if I even _think_ about cutting up onions, I start to tear," Crocker insisted, sticking to his lie like glue, "Now, may I take your order?"

"I don't think so," Waxelplax sighed, surprised at herself, "Suddenly, I'm...not very hungry."

Crocker stared after her in complete shock. Waxelplax saying "no" to food? That was something he thought he'd never live to see. It suddenly became clear to him that his world was turning upside down--nothing made sense anymore! Although, rethinking it, in his case, maybe his world was finally tilting right-side up.


	5. Shadows Of A Man

Disclaimer: The basic plot for this story is my idea, however The Fairly OddParents and all characters involved belong to Butch Hartman.

Chapter Five-- "Shadows Of A Man"

Geraldine Waxelplax's invitation to return and her out of character behavior really left Crocker reeling. He knew as well as anyone that no one liked him at the school--much less missed him. Her reaching out to him was too much for his unstable mind to grasp without the paranoid suspicion. Was she setting him up? Did she really mean what she said? Was she expressing pity?

"I don't need her pity," he grumbled as he clocked out and dragged himself into his van for the drive home, "No one needs to worry for me. I'm all right."

He ignored the question that gnawed at the back of his mind: _Am I all right?_

As the thought remained persistent, demanding his acknowledgement to no avail, Crocker fell deep into memories that quickly became vivid flashbacks. He was no longer sitting behind the wheel of his fairy-detection van. He was visiting the past once again.

---------------

__

After the whole humiliating scene in Dimmsdale University's auditorium, Crocker went in search of his girlfriend. She had a way of comforting him with her quiet understanding at times such as these. He searched up and down the halls and practically swept the entire campus, seeking, but never finding. He knew he'd seen her in the audience. Where had she disappeared to?

"I suppose I'll see her at Sheldon's party tomorrow night," he sighed as evening fell and he still had not found her. The campus was deserted and a chilly March wind was blowing. Shuddering both from the chill and the memories of his most recent humiliation, Denzel Crocker turned toward home.

He wasn't permitted to live in a dorm like most of the other college students. From his childhood, he was labeled a borderline mental case and the safest place for him to be--for the sake of other citizens--was his own home not far from the campus. As he parked his dilapidated, used $500 van in his driveway, the bumper fell unceremoniously to the concrete, unnoticed by him as he was in too heavy an emotional slump to care.

"How was the big speech, Denzel?" his mother asked as he dragged his feet through the door.

"Don't ask," Crocker sighed despondently, dropping his jacket on the floor near the coat rack and ascending the stairs as though his feet were encased in concrete blocks. His mother looked concerned, but didn't press the issue.

In the silent solitude of his barren room, he reflected on the day's events, his spirit sinking to an all-time low as the laughter echoed in his mind--the pain of rejection becoming more real than ever.

"Stop laughing at me!" he cried into the stillness, beating his temples with clenched fists as though trying to knock the sound from his memory.

In sheer emotional exhaustion, he passed out on his bed, retreating to the oblivion only sleep could offer him. His mother came up to check on him roughly an hour later and gazed at his frail, dejected form with pity. How she wished she knew what had happened to cause him to be as he was. Pushing the depressing thoughts from her mind, she gently draped a quilt over her son and left the room, flicking the light off as she departed.

The next day, Crocker went to classes, then shifted gears--sort of--to accomplish his tasks at work and, by evening, he was ready to drop. Still, he mustered enough energy to uphold his obligation to go to Sheldon Dinkleburg's party with Geraldine in spite of the fact that--at the moment--he wanted nothing more than to crawl in a hole and die. If he felt that way before the party, he was destined to feel much worse later on.

He arrived at Dinkleburg's place fashionably late, his van still short one bumper. Originally, he'd stopped by Geraldine's dorm to pick her up, but she wasn't there, so he guessed she must have headed to the party alone due to his lateness.

He was right. Geraldine was at the party one half hour prior to his arrival. She looked apprehensive--like something was weighing on her mind even as she stood talking and laughing with Dinkleburg. Crocker could sense an ominous feel in the air as he approached her.

"Evening, Geraldine," he smiled, trying desperately to put yesterday's events out of his mind and have a good time as he handed her a single, slightly wilted carnation.

"Denzel," Geraldine said hesitantly, accepting the flower and looking at him with a solemn expression, "There's...something I need to tell you."

"And?" Crocker's expression dropped. He had a feeling he wouldn't like what was coming.

"And you're probably not going to like it."

Well, at least his suspicions were confirmed with that statement.

"Denzel...I don't know how to say this, but..." she bit her lower lip and looked down at the floor, silently praying her next words wouldn't hurt him as much as she knew they would, "Things aren't going to work out. You and I...we just don't blend very well anymore."

She paused, allowing Crocker time to absorb what she'd said. He stood expressionless, staring at her in hollow disbelief as her words sank in. He could only think to word one response.

"Why?"

"It's over, Denzel," Geraldine continued, forcing herself to become firm, "Your performance in the auditorium yesterday proved to me that everyone was right all those years--you're crazy and you need professional help."

"Well, fine," Crocker's response was desperate, "I'll get professional help! You don't have to break up with me--"

"Yes, I do," Geraldine replied, pulling him aside to talk to him privately, "I can't have people thinking I'm in love with a mental case, Denzel. I have a reputation to keep. I...hope you understand."

"Yeah," Crocker forced a bright tone and an understanding smile, masking the hurt, "I understand. No worries...but...you're sure it's over?"

"It's over, Denzel. I'm sorry."

Crocker stared after her as she left him to go to the other side of the room and mingle--far away from him. He could only stand in complete shock. As if that wasn't enough to crush him, Elton John's "Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word" began softly playing from the gigantic speakers on Dinkleburg's brand new stereo--which he'd purchased with the college grants that were originally intended to be given to Crocker. In fact, the party was thrown to celebrate his sudden wealth.

As the lyrics to the song penetrated him painfully, Denzel Crocker turned and left the party and--sadly--not a soul was aware of his departure.

---------------

Crocker was jolted back to the present when someone behind him blared his horn impatiently. The traffic light was green and had been so for quite some time, but by the time Crocker realized that, it turned red. No doubt, the people in the backup behind him were furious. He struggled to remain in the present as he waited for the light to change again.

When he finally arrived at the house, he barely acknowledged his mother with more than an incoherent grumble as he headed upstairs. He was too exhausted and disturbed to eat, so he chose to go another night without dinner--much to his mother's concern. He'd been skipping dinner more often than usual lately and she guessed it was because of the depression that seemed to cloud his eyes.

Crocker made it a point to crash the instant he was in his room. He collapsed on the bed and immediately fell into a fitful sleep the instant his head hit the pillow. Sleep had never come so quickly without a sedative before and he wished it hadn't. At least when sleep was induced by a sedative, it was untouched by dreams. He twitched and convulsed and muttered as ghosts of the past haunted his restless slumber--ghosts he thought he'd dealt with long ago...only to find out they still lingered in the shadows of his subconscious mind.


	6. If I Knew Then What I Know Now

Disclaimer: The basic plot for this story is my idea, however The Fairly OddParents and all characters involved belong to Butch Hartman.

Chapter Six-- "If I Knew Then What I Know Now"

Crocker's depression and misery refused to let him be for an extended period of time and, repeatedly, he inflicted his misery on customers--especially the younger ones. When business started dwindling because of him, Mr. Frosty found it to be in order to start making threats.

"Listen, Crocker," he snarled, grabbing the scrawny maniac by his shirt collar and pinning him against the freezer door about two feet off the ground, "If you don't straighten up, you're out and I'm not going to let you off easy! Mark my words, you won't walk away fired without a sound thrashing. Clear?"

"Crystal," Crocker croaked as Mr. Frosty's huge fist was aligned mere inches from his face, "I hear you."

"Good," the huge man snorted as he released Crocker, who clumsily managed to maintain his balance when he hit the floor.

Crocker kept his forced grin in place until Mr. Frosty was out of sight, then his expression drooped into one of passive melancholy as he returned to his duties. He remained depressed throughout the day--until Timmy walked in, followed by pink and green dogs.

"FAIRIES!!!" Crocker shrieked, his mood suddenly swinging dramatically upward at the prospect of stalking Timmy at least while he was in the building.

"Uh...hi, Mr. Crocker," Timmy waved nervously and approached the counter, "Can I get a root beer float, please?"

"Small, medium, or--FAIRIES?!" Crocker responded, looking past Timmy to watch the pink and green dogs sitting at his side wagging their tails.

"Excuse me?"

"Gah--I mean, small, medium, or large?" Crocker hastily rephrased his question.

"Uh, medium," Timmy replied, knowing he had to speed things up before something happened to feed Crocker's suspicions.

"Why don't you just wish for a medium root beer float with the help of your...FAIRY GODPARENTS?!" Crocker inquired, convulsing in a spasm.

"Um...if I had fairy godparents, I would," Timmy replied cleverly, "But I don't because fairies don't exist. They're just make-believe."

"Hey!" Cosmo whined, offended. He shut up quickly though as Timmy subtly stepped on his tail.

"Did that dog just talk?" Crocker asked, eyeing the green canine suspiciously.

"No," Timmy answered, "Dogs don't talk, Mr. Crocker."

"That one did!" Crocker insisted, "Because I heard it and I heard it because that dog is really...A FAIRY GODPARENT!!!"

"You're delusional!" Timmy shouted angrily, "Hurry up and give me my float, will you? I don't have all day to waste listening to you babble about fairies."

"You want a float?" Crocker snarled, "I'll give you a float!"

Timmy wasn't necessarily surprised when Crocker turned the float upside down over his head. Cosmo gleefully fell to licking the root beer and ice cream off Timmy as Crocker uttered his cruel, maniacal laughter.

After witnessing that shenanigan, any and all customers in the shop fled for their lives, terrified of the crazy idiot behind the counter. Fortunately, Mr. Frosty wasn't around to lambaste Crocker for his actions.

As business dwindled the closer it got to closing time, Crocker found himself drifting into deep thought once again--thoughts about the repercussions after Geraldine Waxelplax broke his heart and left him to bleed in solitary suffering.

---------------

__

Mentally and emotionally unstable as it was, Crocker spiraled into depression without relief after the love of his life dumped him. Talk about being hit with both barrels. One day, he was the laughingstock on campus and less than 24 hours later, he became the heartbroken, friendless laughingstock on campus.

It took all his mental strength to pass his classes in college, then troop to work where his body worked while his mind was in a world all its own. At least his tasks didn't require a lot of concentration and thought.

Unfortunately, about three days after the turning point in which his life spiraled, Crocker was in such a state of depression that he froze up in a sort of stupor on the job, unable to snap out of it. Mr. Frosty resorted to calling the Dimmsdale Insane Asylum on him when he could gain no response from the stupefied college student.

Crocker didn't remember a thing about the attendants coming to get him. By the time he returned to the land of the living, he was in a dimly lit room that bore a striking resemblance to a jail cell. A consultation with a psychiatrist revealed his behavior, thought process, and lack of self-control was all consistent with that of a mental case--a crazy person.

That was the turning point in which Crocker became bitter. Then and there, he determined he would not let the world drag him down. He would get even--one way or another. He would someday prove he was right--not crazy. Fairies existed. He knew it and he refused to rest until the world accepted his knowledge.

Naturally, one of the many people he blamed for his diagnosis and reputation was Geraldine. She was partly--if not wholly--responsible. She would be sorry one day too if he had anything to say about it. The other person he blamed was his mother.

"Where was she when I needed her? Where was she on the worst day of my life?" Crocker asked himself, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking himself subconsciously. He dwelled on those questions for some time, wishing his mother had been there for him on March 15th, 1972--if no other time. What he wouldn't have given to have her there to protect him from the angry mob that pursued him without just cause that day.

"It doesn't matter now," he said bitterly, straightening and rising to his feet, "I don't need her--or Geraldine. I'll make it on my own and they'll pay. They'll all pay!"

The maniacal laughter that followed his declaration echoed eerily in the ominous silence within the walls of the institution.

---------------

Was it at that actual point that Crocker did go completely insane? Did it happen then or was it long before that event? Even Crocker himself couldn't answer the unspoken question.

In deep need of something recently familiar to bring a sense of comfort and security, Crocker finished up the rest of his work, locked up, and left Mr. Frosty's to drive to Dimmsdale Elementary.


	7. You Only Hurt Yourself Out Of Spite

Disclaimer: The basic plot for this story is my idea, however The Fairly OddParents and all characters involved belong to Butch Hartman.

Chapter Seven-- "You Only Hurt Yourself Out Of Spite"

Crocker pulled up in his usual parking space at the school and exited his van. Even though he'd resigned, he kept his key to the building. Everyone had forgotten he had one anyway. Unlocking the doors, he slipped inside and headed to his old classroom--number 44.

He found everything just as he'd left it for the most part--minus his own personal touches. No bad grades littered the teacher's desk and no fairy doodles graced the chalkboard behind it. With a pang, he realized just how much he missed this place--his second home...the place he'd spent so much of his subsistence.

For old time's sake, he sketched up a "Super F" and slapped it on Timmy Turner's desk. How he missed the simple pleasures in life! Slowly, he picked the lowest possible grade up again and studied it, then, suddenly realizing he no longer had a place there, he crumbled the "Super F" up and tossed it in the wastebasket. Flicking the lights off, he headed back out to his van.

---------------

"Mr. Crocker?"

The voice accompanied by what sounded like a tap on a window penetrated his dreams and invaded his sleep. Crocker groggily opened his eyes and pried his face off...the steering wheel?

"Mr. Crocker, what are you doing here?" Waxelplax asked opening his door and eyeing him with concern as he appeared to be severely disoriented.

He'd fallen asleep...in his van...in the school parking lot...to be discovered...by the principal. How embarrassing! His mind raced to come up with a good excuse.

"Ah! Principal Waxelplax! I was just, uh...umm..." he stammered, trying to force his mind into wakeful operation, "I was..."

"Camping out in the school parking lot?" she ventured sarcastically, though she was trying to help him out.

"Yes--no!" Crocker blurted, forcing the door completely open and staggering to the ground, "No, I was, uh...I--I've got to get going!"

Glancing at his watch, he realized he was very late for work and Mr. Frosty was bound to be displeased. Time was money to him and not being on time was money lost and money lost was broken bones gained. Crocker would be the one on the receiving end of that bargain.

He hastily clambered back into his van and drove off without even pausing to shut the door, let alone excuse himself from Waxelplax's presence. The principal quirked a puzzled brow as he took the turn out of the parking lot on two wheels. She didn't find his driving to be unusual--just his behavior. Even for _him_, the events of the morning were strange.

---------------

"You're late!" Mr. Frosty barked as Crocker raced into the shop and slipped on the freshly mopped floor, "Where have you been?"

"I was, uh..." Crocker grimaced. How could he explain without looking like a fool?

"Would you like to plead insanity now or later?" Frosty asked, irritation evident in his tone of voice, "You can plead it. We all know it's true."

Crocker caught the sarcastic, mocking sting and he grew hot with anger, but he bit his tongue--literally. He had to, otherwise he was bound to breathe fire and dig himself a deeper grave.

"Time is money and you're wasting time," Frosty continued after a pause, "Now get to work!"

"You were the one wasting time," Crocker growled under his breath as he slinked away to the freezer, this most recent butting of heads causing him to recall yet another agonizingly humiliating moment in his wretched past.

---------------

__

"You mean to tell me I've had a mental case working for me all this time?" Mr. Frosty bellowed, berating Denzel Crocker in front of a shop full of customers.

It was Crocker's first day back on the job after he'd been institutionalized for a week, undergoing a variety of therapies. He'd just finished quietly explaining the reason for his prolonged absence to his boss. The repercussions were not good. Crocker could sense every eye in the building was focused on him.

"You can consider yourself terminated, Denzel Crocker," Frosty continued, "There's only one place for crazies like you and that's the nuthouse!"

"You don't have grounds to fire me," Crocker pleaded, "I haven't done anything crazy on the job!"

"Oh yeah? How 'bout zoning out and leaving ice cream to melt everywhere?" Frosty retorted, referring to the stupor his employee had succumbed to on the job a week earlier, "I'm putting the kibosh on you now before something worse happens. You're gone, Crocker! There's the door. Don't let it hit you on the way out."

---------------

Crocker was livid after remembering the degrading way he was terminated. Would he ever be able to retain a fraction of dignity? It was against the odds, that was for certain. He was distracted from his embittered thoughts as a large group of customers walked in. To his surprise, the group was made up of his entire 5th grade class--headed up by Waxelplax herself.

"So what's the big draw here?" Crocker asked, completely lacking the cheerfulness he was supposed to maintain while serving customers.

"We're celebrating," Waxelplax replied kindly, "There's only one week before school lets out for summer vacation! Woo!"

Crocker winced as her high-pitched cheer caused his fake hair to stand on end. He was about to voice his displeasure when what she had said fully sank in.

"Say that again?"

"There's only one week before school lets out for summer vacation! Woo!"

"Could you...excuse me a moment?" Crocker grimaced, wincing again, then darting away to the freezer to talk to himself.

"Wacko," Mr. Frosty muttered as he stepped forward to wait on the group, "May I help you?"

Back in the freezer, Crocker paced the floor in agitation, anxious regarding the decision he was coming to.

"One more week of school," he muttered, "That means that unless I relent, swallow my pride, and return to the school, I may never get back in again. In turn, that will destroy any and all chances to keep an eye on Turner and his...FAIRY GODPARENTS!!!"

After consulting himself on the matter, Crocker darted back out, plowing Mr. Frosty into the ground as he slid to a stop at the counter and grabbed the P.A. system microphone.

"Children, I have big news!" he announced rapidly with a certain implication of joy, "I'm quitting the ice cream job--"

"Yay!" the children erupted in cheers, elated by the news as they hated going to him for service.

"I'm quitting the ice cream job," Crocker continued, slightly irritated by the interruption, "To be your teacher again!"

Their cheers ebbed away to be replaced with woeful wailing as Crocker cackled maniacally. Waxelplax grimaced as she tried to force a smile simply to be polite. She was just as disappointed as the students, but she tried to hide it as best she could.

"You can't quit!" Mr. Frosty bellowed, dragging himself up from the floor, looking bedraggled and bruised, "You're fired!"

"That works too!" Crocker grinned insanely, grabbing the man's huge hand and shaking it rapidly until he jerked it away in annoyance.

"Get out of here!" he fumed, gesturing toward the door.

Crocker didn't need to be asked twice. He skipped out the door like a little kid who'd just been told he could go to the candy store...and he never once looked back.


	8. The Second Time Around

Disclaimer: The basic plot for this story is my idea, however The Fairly OddParents and all characters involved belong to Butch Hartman.

Chapter Eight-- "The Second Time Around"

Monday morning came and Denzel Crocker was up with the sun, unusually happy and ready to meet the day and roll with whatever punches were dealt him. He even paused to bid his mother good morning.

"Denzel? Are you feeling all right?" she asked, genuinely concerned, "You look than usual. Let Mommy check your temperature!"

"Mother, I'm perfectly fine," Crocker assured her as patiently as he could, swatting her hand away as she tried to feel his forehead, "I'm going to work now."

"That's why I'm worried about you!" his mother cried, "You've never been happy about going to Mr. Frosty's! Did you suffer a blow to your fragile little head on the job? If you did, Mr. Frosty will be dealing with one big-butt lawsuit--"

Crocker knew reasoning with his overprotective mother was like trying to tell people that fairies existed, so he let her ramble on and waltzed out the door to hop in his van and head back to work--the workplace that was meant for him.

Upon reaching the school, the other teachers were just as baffled by his behavior as his mother. They were also quite surprised to see him there. The brown-haired, bespectacled teacher who enjoyed making wisecracks at Crocker's expense went straight to Principal Waxelplax.

"What's that crackpot doing back here?" she asked, "I thought he quit."

"He did," Waxelplax replied hesitantly, "But...I sort of...kind of...invited him to come back when I saw how miserable he was working at Frosty's."

"You what?!" all the teachers within earshot cried in unison.

---------------

Crocker walked into the classroom, deceptively all smiles and sunshine. His students, however, knew a storm was looming on the horizon. It was inevitable. Even if Crocker maintained his sunny outlook on life for the day, he was bound to cloud up everyone else's.

"Good morning, children," he greeted them, taking his seat at the head of the class, twirling around in the desk chair for a second, "Ah, it's good to be back."

"Good morning, Mr. Crocker," the children replied in monotonous voices.

"Since today begins the last week before school lets out for the summer," Crocker continued, "We will begin with...A POP QUIZ!!!"

The students vocalized their dismay.

"Quick! How many hairs are on my head?"

Dozens of children raised their hands. The answer was easy--zero. Crocker really didn't have any hair.

"While I'm wearing this?!" Crocker finished, pointing at the toupee on his head.

One by one the confident children dwindled until Timmy's hand was the last to go down. Crocker eyed him expectantly.

"Uh...uh..." Timmy stammered helplessly.

"F!" Crocker shouted, savoring the sound of the failing grade rolling off his tongue. Timmy exchanged glances with Chester and AJ.

"Guys," he sighed, "This is going to be a long week."

It was a long week indeed; a long week full of pop quizzes, ridiculous college-level

tests--of which no student was fortunate enough to pass--and lectures that somehow always ended on the subject of fairies. Several times, Timmy was tempted to feign illness simply to stay out of school and avoid Crocker altogether.

"Man! Why did he have to come back?" Timmy muttered to his pink backpack and green lunchbox Friday afternoon as he stopped at his locker between classes to drop off an endless assortment of disgraceful grades, "Things were so much easier when he wasn't here."

"Aw, cheer up, Sweetie," Wanda tried to console him, "Just think--after today, you won't have to cross paths with him at all!"

"Until school starts up again in August, that is," Cosmo added.

Little did any of them know, Crocker was lurking inside the locker right next to Timmy's, which, incidentally, turned out to be Francis's. Armed with a small camera, he was taking snapshots of Timmy conversing with his backpack and lunchbox--both of which had eyes, noses, and mouths and they were talking back. He almost had a spasm when both Cosmo and Wanda--oblivious to the stalking eyes--poofed themselves into fairy form. He quickly snapped a few more pictures.

"They called me foolish," Crocker chuckled darkly as he examined the instant snapshots, "They called me insane. They said I wasn't with the program, but wait until the world sees my proof! They will know that I've been right all these years! FAIRIES!!!"

Suddenly, the locker door opened and there, towering over his hunkered form, was Francis. He didn't look pleased until the idea crossed his mind that it might be fun to beat the living daylights out of the teacher who'd slapped a "Super F" in his face that very morning.

"Now, Francis, let's talk about this," Crocker chuckled nervously, sensing the amount of danger he was in, "You don't want to pulverize me. I'm your teacher--your nice, understanding, merciful educator who--"

"Gave me a 'Super F' about an hour ago," Francis finished, hauling Crocker out of the locker by his tie, then dragging him outside where he assaulted him and later deposited his mangled body in the dumpster.

Crocker was in pain, but he would survive. At least his proof had sustained the attack. At lunch period, he went in search of the principal. He wanted to rub it in her face first, figuring that perhaps she would regret discrediting and ditching him so long ago.

Timmy paused outside the cafeteria as Crocker stomped by, grinning evilly as he flipped through what looked like photographs--photographs featuring Cosmo and Wanda!

"Oh no!" Timmy gasped, "Where'd he get those?!"

"I'm not sure, Timmy," Wanda replied, worried, "He must have been spying on us from somewhere."

"He's going to use those photos to prove his theory!" Timmy cried, "We've got to do something! I wish the photos were really pictures of, uh...gerbils!"


	9. So You Said That Only Proves That I'm In...

Disclaimer: The basic plot for this story is my idea, however The Fairly OddParents and all characters involved belong to Butch Hartman.

Chapter Nine-- "So You Said That Only Proves That I'm Insane"

Oblivious to Timmy's wish, Crocker continued his route to the principal's office where he walked in on Waxelplax as she was sorting files. His kicking the door open startled her and she reflexively flung several papers in the air.

"Crocker!" she barked, irritated as dozens of papers fluttered to the floor around her, "What's the meaning of your rude, unannounced entrance?"

"This!" Crocker gloated, holding the envelope under her nose, then dropping it on her desk, "You can't laugh at me now."

"What is this?" Waxelplax asked, annoyance evident in her tone as she flipped through the pictures.

"FAIRIES!!!" Crocker shouted, convulsing, "It's proof that Timmy Turner has...FAIRY GODPARENTS!!!"

"Oh really?" she scoffed, turning the pictures around so he could see them, "Seems more like Timmy has pet gerbils that enjoy running on their wheel."

"What?!" Crocker snatched the pictures back and flipped through them frantically, "It can't be! I saw them! I took pictures of them! I'm going--"

"Crazy," Waxelplax said hollowly, "You're a few bananas short of a bunch, Crocker."

"I hate bananas!" Crocker spouted off impulsively, "They remind me of apes--which I also hate! And I'm not crazy! I know what I saw!"

"And I know where you'll be spending your summer vacation this year," Waxelplax muttered, picking up the phone as he stormed out.

---------------

"There's only one way those photos could have gotten mixed up without ever leaving my sight," Crocker muttered to himself as he tromped down the halls, "FAIRY GODPARENTS!!!"

This time, he gave way to a spasm and his foot made contact with someone's backside. Crocker blinked in surprise as he found himself face to face with Adam West.

"Why, I never!" Catman hissed, rubbing his rear.

"What are you doing here?" Crocker demanded, "You don't belong in the school."

"Catman goes where Catman pleases," Catman replied matter-of-factly.

"Well, Catman can go get lost," Crocker spat, "You're in my way and you're breaking my concentration!"

Crocker stepped around the maniacal movie star and headed for his classroom. He froze in his tracks though when he saw an orderly from the mental institution standing in the doorway.

"Time to go night-night, crazy guy," he said in his happy-go-lucky, nauseatingly stupid voice.

"Says who?" Crocker brazenly demanded.

"Says your boss," the orderly replied, "She says you need your medicine again."

At that point, Crocker made an about-face and high-tailed it down the hall, calling "Fairies are real!" over his shoulder.

"There he goes again," the orderly sighed, glancing helplessly at Waxelplax before pursuing the mental case.

Crocker continued speeding down the hallway, intent on getting to the exit, then to his van, then flooring it and getting as far away from the orderly as humanly possible. Unfortunately for him, he collided with Catman--who was being pursued by another orderly from the opposite direction.

"Gah! Watch where you're going!" Crocker barked impatiently.

"Me?" Catman retorted, "Why don't you practice what you preach?"

"Because I'm not a preacher--I'M A TEACHER!!!"

"There they are!" the two orderlies shouted simultaneously upon discovering the two arguing in the hall. Both Catman and Crocker looked extremely nervous as the gigantic oafs closed in. It seemed their twisted minds came up with the same idea at the same time as they made one last desperate attempt to escape.

"Take him! He's the crazy one!" they tried to pass the crazy buck on each other, speaking in unison, "I am not! You are!"

The orderlies exchanged looks of confusion as the two crazies argued.

"Package deal," one of them said at last, "Take 'em both."

Crocker gave way to total lunacy as an orderly restrained him in a straitjacket and effortlessly slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"No! You've got me all wrong!" he cackled maniacally, "I don't suffer with insanity...I enjoy every minute of it!"

"Well, crazy guy," the orderly answered, "You can enjoy every minute of your insanity in your little padded room when you wake up from your nap."

"FAIRIES!!!" Crocker screamed as they passed Timmy in the hall, "I'll get you, Timmy Turner!"

"I'm going to need a bigger needle," the orderly sighed, exasperated.

---------------

Timmy joined the other kids as they ran out of the school building at three o'clock, shouting jubilantly. To his great joy, his parents decided to go to the beach Saturday morning and the best part was that they were taking him along.

As Timmy waded out into the waves the next day, followed by two pink and green seagulls, he decided life couldn't get much better. As his fairy godparents settled on the water's surface to float idly, Timmy smirked.

"This is the best summer vacation ever," he sighed, reclining on Cosmo as he poofed into a surfboard, "I wonder how mean old Mr. Crocker's vacation is going."

"Aw, I'm sure he's having oodles of fun!" Cosmo replied, "He's probably catching up on his sleep as we speak."

Cosmo was almost right. At the moment, Crocker was royally irritated with his next door neighbor and the two engaged in an argument through the padded wall that involved a lot of verbal berating, coming mostly from Crocker.

"All right, that's it, crazies!" the orderly on duty barked, "It's night-night time!"

"Never! Catman goes night-night when Catman--aaaaaaahhh!" Catman's response died in the water as he was promptly sent to la-la land. They zeroed in on Crocker next and his yelp of pain could be heard from quite a distance.

"Did you guys hear something?" Timmy asked, furrowing his brow.

"I heard the ocean!" Cosmo cried, holding up a conch shell, "You won't believe this, Timmy, but it sounded almost like your crazy teacher!"

Wanda exchanged a dull look with Timmy.

"Ignorance is bliss."

THE END


End file.
